


On Air With Carlos the (perfect) Scientist

by sachi_sama



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachi_sama/pseuds/sachi_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos isn't sure why he agreed to host Cecil's radio show, but it's too late to back out now. At least Cecil's vague hand gestures and exaggerated expressions are helping him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What even is this?! (Inspired by a thread of comments on the podcast's website in which listeners said it would be nice to have Carlos fill in for Cecil.)

 

 

He wondered, _oh_ , how he wondered, for at least the fifteenth time since he found himself in this bizarre situation, _why_ exactly he even agreed to do this. He was sitting in a rather cushy leather chair, headphones perched on his head, microphone in front of his face, and papers, stacks and stack of papers, growing and shrinking entirely of its own accord, strewn out in front of him. _Oh, God, Carlos, why_?

Cecil shot him an encouraging grin as everything in the tiny, yet comfortable booth began to whir to life. While Carlos had forbidden him from making any forms of _verbal_ encouragement, Cecil seemed perfectly content with waving his arms about and making overly exaggerated expressions to convey his emotions accurately. Carlos decided later, after this broadcast was said and done with, that he might just have to teach Cecil the finer points of American Sign Language for the next time he lost his voice due to sickness. But then again, he decided when Cecil made a particularly wild jerking motion toward the microphone, he might not, because it was much more fun this way.

Finally, the sign hanging on the wall, yet slightly _off_ the wall, lit up. The capital luminescent letters spelling out the words ‘ _ON AIR’_ seemed to loom over him as he nervously bit his lip in anticipation, but Cecil gently nudged his chair with his foot, and- hang on, when the hell did Cecil take his shoes off? Carlos frowned at him to convey his distaste for being nudged with a bare foot, but Cecil merely grinned sheepishly before wrapping his entire body back in the blanket one of the interns had provided him with, only his face visible as he watched what was surely about to be forever known as the train wreck of Carlos’s first, and hopefully _last_ radio broadcast.

Thankfully, Cecil had written out most of what he was supposed to say before they had even gotten to the station. He had begun diligently working on it since Carlos offered to do the segment for him, but still, the scientist had his doubts about the whole thing. Yes, he had listened to the broadcast before. He never actually admitted to Cecil that while in his lab, he would often listen to it while working, even pausing his work sometimes to fully immerse himself in the dulcet tones his lover would produce while on air. The way of speaking was so different from Cecil’s normal playful and occasionally high-pitched voice (especially in the presence of Carlos himself) that he couldn’t help but listen to a refined, soothing Cecil whenever the opportunity presented itself, but at the same time, the fact he had heard the broadcast before made the entire ordeal of doing it himself that much more horrifying. While Cecil might have been completely willing to present these ludicrous stories as if they were completely normal occurrences, Carlos wasn’t entirely sure he could do so.

Not to mention if Cecil did, in fact, write these notes for him the way he would normally do so for a broadcast, the scientist shuddered to think of what his lover might make him say. The _‘ON AIR’_ sign blinked once, twice, three times, and he knew it was past time to begin. Nervously, he looked down at the papers, and in his best, if not somewhat shaky, radio voice, he began reading what Cecil had written into the mic.

”Your fear of the dark is irrational, and completely uncalled for. Darkness has never done anything out of context to you. Light, on the other hand… Well, that is a different story. Welcome to Night Vale.”

The piano refrain began playing briefly as Cecil reached over him to press the button with another wide smile and a quick kiss pressed to the side of his head. Carlos didn’t say anything about the tiny fact that Cecil moved closer and closer in his little chair until his head was practically on the scientist’s shoulder, because he didn’t have time to.

“Hello, listeners. As you might have noticed, this isn’t your usual cheerful radio host. Sadly, the voice of Night Vale, the enigmatic and immeasurably charming Cecil Palmer, has come down with a sore throat and is unable, though he is still completely willing, to do the show. Not to worry though, as this is his…better half, better portion of his soul, and entire portion of his heart to address today’s issues. So sit back with your large, bottomless pits of cheap wine in overly expensive glasses, and lose yourselves in the rich, caramel, and entirely luscious voice of Carlos.”

He tossed Cecil an incredulous glance, but his lover merely smiled up at him, gently encouraging him with his clear, owlish gaze, and Carlos sighed as he kept reading the writing, cursing himself for not proofreading.

“The man in the tan jacket was seen last night by one of our residents. This resident has chosen to remain anonymous, mainly due to the fact that he was looking very obviously toward the Dog Park. As we all know, the Dog Park is forbidden to look at, walk near, take pictures of, or even think about for more than five seconds, but it is beautiful. Simply beautiful. According to our resident, the man was carrying a bouquet of flowers, and his usual briefcase full of flies.

“Now, this might just be wishful thinking on my part, since I am a reporter and love to think of happy outcomes, but I like to think those flowers are for Dana, our intern who managed to enter the Dog Park a few weeks ago, and hasn’t been able to exit. Oh, can you imagine, dear listeners? Dana may very well have jumped the fence of lawlessness to doom herself to an eternity in the forbidden park, but she might not spend those cold nights alone! How romantic will it be to surround themselves with such beautiful scenery that none of us have seen, and share their lives together? If you can hear this, dear, dear Dana, I want to know why you haven’t texted Cecil and told him of these new events. He had to hear it from an _anonymous_ tipster and not from you? Are the two of you not friends anymore? For shame, Dana. For shame. And now, traffic.”

Cecil was looking at him with such a look of pure _adoration_ that Carlos was finding it more and more difficult to do the broadcast. Thankfully, everything he was reporting seemed relatively normal for now- well, normal for Night Vale standards. Aside from the overly enigmatic dialogue he was pitching, it was going quite well. He flipped the page to read what was written for “traffic”, since it was hardly ever really about traffic itself. Oh, but this time seemed to be an exception. Sort of.

“This morning, at the stop light that never actually works because, come on, who listens to a _light_ to tell them when they can and cannot go, a tan Corolla was stalled in the middle of the intersection, with its horribly run-down and never maintained a day in its sad, vehicle life hubcaps. As a professional broadcaster, I can’t say it’s entirely appropriate to say exactly who it _was_ driving this atrocious eyesore that so inconveniently blocked the path of so many motorists, but then again, who cares about appropriateness when situations like these arise in our tiny, wonderful desert town? It was Steve Carlsburg who stalled traffic flow this morning, and it was _Steve Carlsburg_ who honked his horn back at everyone honking theirs at him. Now, I’m not saying he’s a complete waste to our community or anything like that, but next time a tan, low maintenance Corolla blocks traffic flow, or you just happen to catch a glance of the unfunny joke driving said vehicle, maybe just stomp on your accelerator…and do what feels right.”

Carlos rolled his eyes at the pure look of fury Cecil had on his face while narrating said story. What exactly his lover held against Steve Carlsburg was something they hadn’t discussed yet, but every time the man’s name was mentioned, Cecil’s gaze always turned into a fierce one full of too much hate for his usual loving expression. Once his lavender tinted eyes met Carlos’s, he smiled again, opening his mouth as if to say something, but remembered he wasn’t supposed to be talking. So instead, he scooted close again, nuzzling against the scientist’s shoulder and cooing softly.

At that moment, a new paper appeared on top of the stack, one that wasn’t in Cecil’s handwriting. Carlos frowned at it, pointing wordlessly at the offending paper, and Cecil nudged him repeatedly, obviously encouraging him to read it. And by the increased rate of the nudges, he needed to read it soon.

“Uh. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have just notified us of an escaped fugitive making his way through our small community. Now, this man looks relatively normal, and might not come across as dangerous at all. We _all_ remember the last time a fugitive roamed aimlessly through our town, as he was over ten feet tall and sometimes emitted sparks from his mouth, so he was, of course, easy to capture. This time around, the fugitive looks like any one of us, and we are warned that it _could_ be any one of us. Are you feeling guilty? Turn yourself in. The Sheriff’s Secret Police will go easy on you. Possibly. More on this topic as the story develops.”

The broadcast continued like this for some time, papers occasionally appearing on top of Cecil’s notes for Carlos to read, One of them was from station management, demanding that Cecil put his shoes back on. After the brief break for weather, which was filled with Carlos clamping his hand over his lover’s mouth to stop him from gushing about how “perfectly wonderful and beautiful” he sounded on the radio and messing up his voice even more than it already _was_ , it was finally time for the ending notes, which he had been looking forward to the entire broadcast. Cecil’s head was on his shoulder again as he began reading the notes, one of them new, and freshly appeared.

“Well, listeners, the Sheriff’s Secret Police have caught the fugitive, and he can no longer haunt our minds, or our dreams. Who was he? What did he want? Why was he so normal and _why_ did he look like each and every one of us? Because he was us. We are all guilty of being a fugitive at some point in our lives, but today, we were all guilty at the same time. If any lingering thoughts of depravity remain, you are to approach the city council with a note over your head that glows with neon colors, and they will take care of you. Do not confuse these neon colors with the same shades donned by the Glow Cloud. The Glow Cloud does not care to be copied.”

"All hail the Glow Cloud," Cecil said quietly, and Carlos shushed him.

“Finally, dear, sweet listeners, we’d like to thank you for tuning in tonight. How lucky we all are to have someone as beautiful and perfect as Carlos to deliver our humdrum news. Carlos, who could narrate the birth of every beautiful event in the history of life, and could quite possibly talk anyone back to life just so they could look upon his gorgeous locks and wonder to themselves why, God, why can’t I have this man… Really, Cecil?” Carlos narrowed his gaze at his lover, waving the offending reading material in the air, and Cecil waved him on, wordlessly conveying he needed to finish the broadcast. Sighing, Carlos began scanning the page again, hoping the gushing would end soon.

“This town’s favorite scientist need not be told how much we all adore and idolize him for his services, because telling him so would only tell him things he already knows, and no one likes that. Anyone who wants to say something to Carlos should ask Cecil first, and he will pass on the message if it is worthy. But then again, probably not. Carlos doesn’t have any time to humor- Cecil, oh my God.”

“Keep going!” Cecil mouthed, waving his arms in the air, but Carlos was done with the notes, tossing them to the side. He leaned toward the microphone, for the first time during the broadcast, to say what _he_ wanted to say.

“Just for a second, I’d like to take control of this little broadcast myself to say that while I am thrilled to have a lover with such a high opinion of me, it gets a little embarrassing to have him gushing about my physical traits over the radio all the time. While I’m not going to tell him to stop, because it’s what he enjoys doing, I will show him firsthand how it feels.” Carlos looked over to Cecil who had gone white by this point, save for the blush steadily covering his face.

“Cecil’s hair is absolutely wonderful. It is the color of wheat in the sun, and sways to the side almost like a gentle breeze is blowing that only he can feel. Now, don’t confuse this wheat color with the ban on wheat and wheat byproducts, as that would just be silly.”

“Carlos…”

“His skin is perfectly pale and radiant, fairer than anything I have ever laid eyes on. It’s soft to the touch, and lights up with the most _adorable_ blush whenever we share a glance, such as now. His eyes are the color of the early evening, dusky lavender with a hint of violet. And his tattoos, my God, his _tattoos_ are as enticing to look at as they are to trace and _feel_.”

Cecil was hiding his face in the blanket, his feet, now brandishing his shoes, were poking out at the bottom.

“But the most wonderful thing about this man is the amount of enjoyment he gets out of everything he does. He could be commenting on something as simple as a cactus, and we would all be enticed by his rich, symphonic dulcet tones as if he were reading the most beautiful poetry. Yes, Cecil’s eyes are my favorite feature, but not for their color, nor for their shape. They are my favorite because he is always seeing something I cannot. He is, by far, the most outstanding part of Night Vale.”

“Carloooossss, noooo.”

“Sometimes I think to myself how lucky I am to have claimed this man as my own. _My_ Cecil. My Cecil, who I need to take home now so he can eat some warm soup, and cover up in bed until he feels better, because not talking to you is literally what drives him every day. So, dear listeners, thank you for humoring me for my first radio broadcast, but I think we would all do much better to have Cecil back on air, and me back in the lab. It’s looking to be a beautiful night in our little desert town, and I’m going to spend it holding the man I love." Cecil squeaked, and Carlos smiled warmly at the lump of covers next to him. "Good night, Night Vale. Goodnight.”

The sign went off, and Carlos took the headphones off, placing them wordlessly on the table before leaning forward to uncover his lover from his blanket fortress.

“Alright, we’re done. Can we go home now?” he asked. There was no response for a few minutes, and the two of them sat in the booth together with their own thoughts.

Now, for the hundredth time, Carlos wondered why he had volunteered to do the broadcast for his lover when one of the interns probably could’ve handled it much better than he did, and he was missing an entire night of research in the lab to be here. But then, Cecil uncovered his face and scooted forward, pressing their lips together briefly, and Carlos didn’t need to wonder why he agreed to do this anymore.

The answer was probably always obvious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bans self from writing for the fandom ever again* I'll just...roll away now...


	2. On Air With Cecil the (enthusiastic) Scientist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy one year anniversary of this story! Somehow it has become one of the most popular things I've ever written, which never ceases to make me laugh. I thought this could use a little sequel of some sort, as a thank you for all of you who enjoyed the first installment and commented or left kudos! I hope you like it!

It was a small feeling at first, just a small itch in the back of his throat that he couldn't get rid of. Carlos ignored it for the most part, as he had other things to focus on. It wasn't until the small coughs started that any attention was drawn to it, and of course, it _had_ to happen while Cecil was in the room.

“Carlos! What was that?”

“Cough,” Carlos said. 

“Well, obviously, you sassy pants. I meant that it sounded kind of...throaty. Are you sick?” Cecil asked, giving him a nonplussed look mixed with concern. His eyes were lavender swirled, the other color one Carlos didn't have a name for. Cecil's eyes had taken to changing color recently, and Carlos had been studying them vigilantly. There were at least four on the list that Carlos was sure weren't discovered yet, but he found it impossible to explain the colors in words. 

“I'm not sick, I just had something in my throat,” Carlos said, somewhat lamely. “I just need some water or something.”

“We could go to Big Rico's,” Cecil said. “We need to before the week is out, or we'll be under investigation.” He hopped off the counter while he spoke, his tattoos retreating under his sleeves like they wanted to hide from the light of the living room. Carlos had stopped asking about them, but he was still immensely curious. 

“Big Rico's can wait till Friday. I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakthrough over here.”

“A breakthrough?” Cecil smiled, eyebrows raised. “My, my! How exciting! What kind of breakthrough?” 

“A science-y one.”

“Ugh. Well at least let me get you some water,” Cecil mumbled, going back into the kitchen. He rummaged around the cabinet, his tattoos reemerging slowly, as if checking the surrounding area first. He handed Carlos the water, and then went into the bedroom, not coming out again. It wasn't until Carlos heard Cecil's irritable voice calling from behind the cracked door that he realized a few hours had passed, all seemingly in the blink of an eye. Carlos rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, trying to get a hold of himself.

He was  _not_ getting sick. This was mind over matter. 

By the time he crawled into bed, wrapping around Cecil in a silent apology for being so absorbed in his work, he convinced himself he'd be back to feeling 100% in the morning.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. 

He woke up feeling awful, unwilling to emerge from the blankets. He heard Cecil rummaging through their bedroom, obviously trying to be quiet, but seemingly born without the capability. Finally Cecil's hand clasped over his shoulder and shook gently.

“Carlos?” he asked quietly. “Are you going to the lab today?”

“No,” Carlos rasped, wishing for more water. “We were meeting down by the edge of town. There's a new sinkhole forming there.”

“A new sinkhole?” Cecil asked, petting Carlos's hair absently. “What's that little old sinkhole got to do with you?”

“We're studying it. And it's not little,” Carlos said. 

Inevitably, Cecil's hand slid to Carlos's forehead, and he jerked it back, gasping dramatically. 

“Carlos!” he cried, eyes going wide as they changed to a turquoise color. “You're burning up!”

“No, I'm not,” Carlos said stubbornly. “I'm just...well insulated.”

“Oh no sir, you are _not_ going to any _sinkhole_ today. You are staying here and resting until you're well!”

“I have to go, they're _my_ team of scientists!” Carlos argued, but made no attempt at getting up. “It's just a little cold, it's fine.”

“I seem to recall listening to you when you said I was too sick to do my show,” Cecil said, eyes flashing a momentary yellow color before changing entirely to olive green. “I should think you would return the favor of trusting me.”

Carlos sighed, probably for an unnecessary amount of time (being sick always made him a little more dramatic) and then he agreed reluctantly, though his body was already sinking into the sheets. He barely registered when Cecil kissed the back of his head a while later, though it roused him enough to realize he was being spoken to.

“I'll be back later tonight,” Cecil cooed quietly. “You just stay asleep and take it easy. Call if you need anything, and I will rush over, Station Management be damned!” 

“Mmm,” Carlos grunted, agreeing lazily. “Be careful.”

“I'm always careful.”

Carlos could have pointed out the numerous times he found himself rushing to the aide of Cecil after hearing one of the more terrifying episodes of his show, but decided against it. He was too tired to think of a valid argument anyway.

He woke up to the radio coming on. It always went on by itself, as it was mandatory in Night Vale for everyone to listen to Cecil's show. Every citizen had the same old-fashioned radio, and this was the only channel it got. All the other ones were pure white noise, though sometimes voices could be heard saying things like,  _“Press the knob a bit further, you're almost where you need to be”_ and _, “You looked so wonderful that night. What happened? What happened? What happened?”_

Carlos grumbled a bit at the fumbling sounds of the radio until Cecil's voice filled the stagnant air.

“ _If you close your closet at night, you will hear the murmuring voice of someone trying to get out, someone asking for_ help _. And if you_ don't _close your closet at night—ah. Well, you probably can't hear me anyway. Welcome to Night Vale.”_

The piano refrain played, and Carlos rolled over to place his feet on the ground. He needed water like there was no tomorrow, and since he was awake it was all he could think about.

“ _Exciting news, listeners! I am reporting to you from a different location than our normal studio! Carlos, you know, my cute scientist boyfriend? He's feeling a little under the weather, and I thought, 'Oh! What a charming idea to do the same for him as he did for me when_ I _was sick!' Do you remember, listeners, when Carlos did my show for me?”_

Carlos, who was in the process of chugging tap water, choked and sputtered, his hand going over his mouth.

“ _I am here with Carlos's band of scientists- and my word, there are certainly more than I remember there being last time! I can't recall all the names, because, as you know, I have serious issues with remembering anything that isn't mandatory. Ha ha...”_

Carlos ran to the bedroom and unlocked his phone, only to see that Cecil had placed it on airplane mode. Cursing, he turned off airplane mode and waited for the notifications to flood in. To his surprise, only one missed call from Joanne, a fellow scientist, and a few Tumblr notifications alerting him that Cecil had uploaded some new wooden carvings of Khoshekh to his blog.

“ _But anyway, I'm not going to bore you with details of my college years any longer!”_

Carlos realized he had stopped listening.

“ _I am here watching as the scientists run all sorts of tests on this sinkhole. It strikes me as a bit odd, listeners, that they are placing so importance on this silly run of the mill phenomenon when there is the_ very real _issue of the singing plastic ferns in our new home décor store, but I am merely here to observe, nothing more.”_

Carlos relaxed a bit at that, but still wondered how this entire thing came about.

“ _Now, I'm sure most of you are wondering how this entire thing came about!”_

Yes. Yes, Carlos would very much like to know that.

“ _As Carlos is sick, he can't participate in this...experiment. And since I am dating Carlos, that means I am almost as qualified as he is to be here, right? I mean, hello, when you have a scientist boyfriend, it sort of makes you one, too!”_

No. No, it most certainly did not.

“ _I am here if they need my assistance, but for now, let's focus on the news.”_

Carlos was already pulling his jeans on, not bothering to change his _Captain America_ shirt. He ran out to his car, the radio coming on as soon as the key met the ignition.

“ _...And she was only found by the noises she made inside that tiny container. Ah! An update, listeners! One of the small, boyish scientists, I think his name is Ronald?”_

Carlos didn't know anyone by that name on his team.

“ _He is attempting to see how deep the sinkhole is.”_

Did Cecil mean Rhett? Rhett was small, but certainly not _boyish_.

“ _Ronald is lowering an extremely long measuring tape inside the sinkhole and waving his arms in the air. Hmm. Nothing seems to be happening.”_

Carlos was going to have to have a serious talk with Cecil later about memorizing the names of his team. How could the man remember every intern he'd had, and not remember meeting Rhett?

“ _While they are over there, working diligently as a team, I will take you now to traffic.”_

Seriously, Cecil had shaken Rhett's hand the last time he visited Carlos at the lab. This was ridiculous.

Carlos was about ten minutes away. He hoped he'd make it before anything potentially bad could happen. He listened to the broadcast intently, pleased that Cecil seemed to be keeping his distance.

“ _Ah, Joanne is going back over to the...wait. What is she doing? Listeners! She's— NO STOP!”_

In the few seconds of dead air, Carlos felt his blood run cold and his mouth drop open. And then the weather came on.

He didn't think there were any traffic laws left to break. By the time he arrived to the edge of town, he was expecting a mushroom cloud, a giant, scaled monster of some sort— _something._ The last thing he expected to see was the entire team standing around, staring intently at Cecil as though he were telling the most captivating story they'd ever heard. Carlos stepped out of his car, making a beeline toward them. Cecil noticed him immediately.

“Carlos! You're supposed to be sleeping!”

“What happened? I was- I was listening and before the weather you were screaming?” Carlos asked, looking around. The sinkhole was spitting up tiny rocks one at a time, casting them in unknown directions.

“Oh! They were about to drop that large boulder inside the sinkhole! I was just telling them- I mean, it's kind of embarrassing, you know?” Cecil added in a hushed tone. “I didn't want to say so.”

“What's embarrassing?” Carlos asked.

“You have to ask it first, before you just toss things inside. Don't you see it spitting out the rocks they tossed in before I got here? Poor thing. Didn't you know that, Carlos?”

Carlos merely stared at him, unsure of what to say. He watched as Cecil raised his portable microphone, speaking into it.

“Well, listeners, I do believe we are done at the sinkhole for the day. I feel a bit silly, in retrospect. I should have known these out of town scientists wouldn't be familiar with the reappearing sinkhole.”

“ _Reappearing?”_ Joanne mouthed to Carlos, who shrugged.

“As we all know, this sinkhole has been appearing and disappearing as long as our town has been here. It stays for a few days, and then it leaves, only to return when, and _if_ it feels like it. One of the scientists,” Cecil shoots Joanne a disapproving look, “tried to toss a boulder inside, but I managed to stop them in time. The last thing any of us want is to make it _angry_.”

Joanne gave Carlos a very confused look.

“As we learned in elementary school, 'Observation equals happy sinkhole. Tossing rocks equals nightmares we have only ever experienced deep in the tresses of our own minds, forgotten by years of quietly praying to _forget'_.”

Carlos promised all of his team he'd buy them lunch the next day, just to get them to stop giving him those nonplussed looks. 

“And since Carlos is here now, I think it's time to wrap this show up, as I would like to take him home before his cold gets worse. Stay tuned for the sounds of a long forgotten language, remembered only by seemingly incoherent men experiencing bouts of rage. Goodnight, Night Vale. Good night.”

After all the team had left, Cecil rounded Carlos into the car, explaining his car was still at the station, as he had rode with 'Ronald'. 

“We can just get it tomorrow. I'd rather make sure you get home safely.”

“Cecil,” Carlos said as Cecil climbed into the driver's seat, his golden hair extraordinarily windswept from the desert winds. “You're sure the sinkhole won't- get bigger? It's not a threat of any kind?”

“Silly willy Carlos,” Cecil cooed. “Of course I'm sure.”

“But how? How can you be sure it won't grow and start causing damage? I mean, every one I've ever seen--”

“Carlos, all you have to do is _ask_ it not to. Sinkholes are notorious for keeping promises.”

Carlos could do nothing but stare at him in awe, which seemed to be happening more and more frequently these days. He thought he was used to all the strange happenings in Night Vale, but maybe that was impossible. Maybe he'd never run out of surprises.

But that was alright with him, he decided as Cecil's eyes changed to a violet purple. Sometimes the surprises were absolutely wonderful. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this is a total AU now, as Carlos isn't trapped in the desert other world, but hey, that's alright!


End file.
